


On Biology and Its Inconveniences

by cobblepologist



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Choking, Fix-It, Gore, Hallucinations, Lack of Communication, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 13:00:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13365216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobblepologist/pseuds/cobblepologist
Summary: So Oswald smiles when he sees Isabella there, in hishouse, his birthright. He feels like he's hurtling towards the sun, and hopes that the ice in his joints melts fast enough for him to die instantaneously.Instead of murdering Isabella, Oswald decides to distance himself from Edward Nygma.





	On Biology and Its Inconveniences

**Author's Note:**

> edit: PLEASE watch [this AMAZING trailer/edit](https://twitter.com/GothamsLesbianz/status/1064317362160189440?s=19) my dear friend jewel made for this!!!! it makes me cry

Aggressive mimics disguise themselves as harmless animals to close in on their prey. He sees Isabella as a parasite at first, siphoning the warmth from his life with her attachment to Edward. He and Edward had been mutualistic, symbiotic, Edward warming the aching, hard places within him as he fed, clothed, loved this timid, murderous man. But penguins are arctic creatures. They survive in these climates, and he will do without.

He resolves he will not mourn Ed, not like his mother, not like his father. They had been kind to him, unconditionally, and Edward had dropped him for Isabella. _I'd do anything for you_ painfully resonates within him, but he locks that away in a small silver box, tosses the key into the recesses of his room. If he learned nothing else, this was enough. Love is weakness, et cetera.

So Oswald smiles when he sees Isabella there, in his _house_ , his birthright. He feels like he's hurtling towards the sun, and hopes that the ice in his joints melts fast enough for him to die instantaneously.

But Edward smiles at him, teeth clawing painfully in his heart. He's let the man eviscerate him.

And that's all there is to it. Oswald is the hypotenuse. He removes himself from the equation. Tonic immobility allows Ed to go on with his beloved. So there's no more of whatever they have. Had. He no longer allows Edward to help him dress, no longer eats with him, no longer stares at him, no longer touches him. Barely does he rely on him as his Chief of Staff; after the incident with Jervis, he finds it unnecessary. Feigning death does not include any plans to actually die. It is for survival.

Edward is not dumb. He begins to notice the subtle shifts away from him. As if the planet's axis were titled. His gravitation had already shifted towards Isabella, as if she were the sun now, but something has knocked him out of orbit once again. Oswald finds him sneaking glances at him again and again, as if being removed from the mayor by yards instead of feet (barely even a foot, Oswald bitterly reminds himself, thinking of how they were usually pressed flush together in photos) is truly grueling work. Edward occasionally tries to talk to him, spark conversation, voice rough and in awe of Oswald, but the emphasis on Isabella and the talk of his work makes him exhausted. More often than not, he leaves Edward, excuses gracing his tongue. Edward frowns more now, and Oswald tries to take satisfaction in that, instead of dwelling on the way Edward used to look at him, smile like he was the only being in existence and he'd lived centuries without someone to talk to.

It escalates more. Edward follows him like a dog, farther behind now, instead of tucking his tail between his legs. Oswald's sudden distance has made his heart grow fonder, tender. He knows that he knows something has changed between them, air tasting different, clouds overhanging, raining when it's sunny. Good thing he always carries an umbrella.

* * *

"Oswald?"

He barely registers Ed's voice, barely makes any sort of indication that he acknowledges him. All attention turned to his mirror, his reflection, himself. Edward steps more fully into his room. A rat in a trap.

"Oswald? Do you have a moment to talk?"

Involuntarily, he swallows, the feeling of bile rising in his throat. Salivation is a natural reaction to that. "I hope not too long, I have to be on my way to the char-"

"It won't take long." Edward enters now, closing the door behind him. His glasses are askew, and he corrects them with a forefinger. Oswald had always loved these ministrations of his, but he wills himself not to look, instead focusing on choosing a tie. "I have... This is difficult for me to say, but I have noticed a severe decrease in our interactions, Oswald. As your friend and employee, it worries me that I may be losing my companionship with you." The articulation is awkward, too formal for this discussion, but Oswald accepts his small victories, even if the war is already lost.

"To put it simply, I no longer require your services as much as I thought I did."

Edward's brows furrow, and Oswald fixates on the mirror, fingers working deftly at his tie, trying not to let his eyes fall to the reflected hurt and confusion by the wayside. "Oswald, you are my closest friend-"

"You're no longer mine, I'm afraid." This time, he can't resist letting his eyes wander, and the shock on Edward's face radiates pain. Good. He straightens his tie once more, finality, and says, "Don't you have a date with Isabella? I really must be going."

"No, Oswald, I want to talk about thi-"

"There's nothing more to say. I really _must_  be going." Too busy for him. What a nice favor to return.

"If this is about Isabella... I know I've been spending much of my time with her, but believe me, you still matter to me, I..." Oswald does not interrupt this time, but Edward trails off naturally.

"I assure you, your affections for her aren't a problem with me. Have a pleasant evening, Edward." Oswald smiles as he turns to walk out of the room. He can feel Edward flinch when he brushes past him on his way out.

* * *

Edward disavows his own foolhardy infatuation with Oswald. His obsession with this man, this mentor, this friend, is nothing compared to Isabella, his love. He reminds himself of this when the hunger for Oswald's affections is too great, when the spaces beside him feel too empty and vacuous.

But, as is often for someone who thinks too much, his mind strays from Isabella during their dinner conversation. Isabella who- like Kristen, smiles like Kristen, crosses her legs like Kristen- who sips wine from her glass, making eyes at him.

"-and he barely speaks to me, I have no clue what I could've done wrong. He knows I'd do anything for him."

"Oh, darling." Isabella swirls her glass. "It's amazing how someone so brilliant could be so oblivious."

"What?"

"He loves you, you know."

"That's ridiculous. Oswald has no such feelings for me. His actions indicate some sort of newfound disdain-"

"Ed..." Isabella sets her glass down, leans forward on her elbows, as if the bearer of some great secret. "He told me he did. Not in so many words, but..." She casts a furtive glance to the side. "When he realized we were together, that _we_  loved each other, he began to distance himself from you. It might be for the best, really."

If it had been anyone else, Edward would have cast another disbelieving glance and perhaps laughed it off. But Isabella... Isabella was someone he could trust. All he had to do was confront Oswald, and if he denied it, then Isabella's suspicions were unfounded. He trusted him to be honest with him, at least.

* * *

And Edward had been blind. The more he thinks about it, the worse it gets- he's tumbling down a hill, he knows it, and he should've known his attachment to Oswald was, always will be, returned, albeit tenfold. Even if it wasn't from the start, when he had chased his feathered friend down at the GCPD to rejection, Oswald had come to see it his way. Something boils within him. This could have been solved if Oswald had just come forward. They could've done something- moved past it. Yes.

" _Oswald._ "

Surprisingly, he's there, on the same couch they had been on after Butch's betrayal. Edward can only see its back, and even less of Oswald as he remains hunched over. Oswald does not turn to look at him, concentrating on unlacing his shoes and rubbing at his pained leg. Instead, he gives him a whisper of his name. "Ed." It makes Edward shiver despite the roaring fire.

"You weren't going to _tell me_." And some part of Edward that remains slick with rage grits his teeth as he says this.

"What are yo-"

"That you were in _love_  with me?"

Oswald's motions stop completely, and he finally turns around to face him, eyes wide. " _What_?"

"All this time," Ed can feel the heat going to his head now, tender shocks curling around his legs like he's overpowered on kinetic energy. "You never thought to _tell_  me-"

"You do not _get_  to be angry, Edward Nygma!" Somehow, Oswald has gotten to his feet, without Ed even realizing, turning towards the couch to face Ed. His voice has reached a dangerous pitch, and undoubtedly, it's been fatal. "I allowed you _peace_  with that imitation and _deprived_  myself of happiness _entirely_  for your sake, and now you- you _come_  here, angry, because I didn't tell you something I'd ultimately be rejected for?" Oswald's hands had flown to the couch's back, and his knuckles had turn a saltwhite from gripping it so hard. "It's like you _get off_  on hurting me."

Edward stays silent, jaw clenching and unclenching. "Why would you-"

"I was _going_  to tell you, the night you found her!" The shrillness of his voice sounds like breaking glass, like a fire alarm. Edward should've anticipated it. "And you- and you _abandoned_  me for her, no matter _what_  I'd done. You told me I could always _count_  on you and I, I fell in love with a _liar_."

Suddenly, Edward feels a hand he didn't know he had curled relax. Oswald looks so tired, he realizes, and he must be. "Can you please leave, Ed?"

All of that anger leaves Ed's body, and a new kind of tension, anxiety perhaps, enters him. He wants to soothe that exhaustion out of Oswald, press his fingertips into his skin until he can feel the blood pumping underneath. "Oswald-"

"You're fired, Ed." His ears ring. It sounds like the chime of an alarm clock this time, time's up, go away. There has to be something he can say, but before he gets the chance, Oswald starts again. "I need you to leave."

This time, he does not fight it. He packs up a few of his possessions (he's sure Oswald will send Zsasz with the rest,) and leaves. He retreats to Isabella's house like a wounded soldier in a foreign country. Kristen's- Isabella's arms are open for him, she holds him as he cries for the first time since she died. He doubts Oswald will do the same.

* * *

If Ed were a stronger man, he could've made it work, perhaps. But things become more dangerous with Isabella.

More and more often, she dresses up as Kristen. Rehabilitation, supposedly, of a sane man. She puts his hands on her neck, and he feels her trachea, massages the rings of cartilage there. She asks too much about her, that he forgets her own name, and she preens. It becomes more and more difficult for him to tell where she is, with Kristen living in the mirror now, ever since he left- Kristen and the other him appear more and more now, and he realizes, quite frankly too lately, that they had gone once he had moved in with Oswald. _Come on just let us go out can't be cooped up here like a bird haha a bird you hear that didn't you used to like those._ And that indescribable itch comes back. Isabella does not know what blood feels like on his hands, and what open, beating veins look like. She shouldn't.

Some part of him knows its wrong, distilled toxicity. _Nevila clavipes_  spins a web that bees cannot sense the danger in. It's golden, like her hair is- was. She pretends to be Kringle all day now. When he thinks of Oswald, which is often, she straddles his lap. She calls him her dangerous boy and Edward becomes the predator instead. Part of him despises this arrangement. Isolated from everyone but Isabella, his heart thrums for the conversations he used to have with Oswald. It's almost like being back at Arkham, but there's no visitor to expect, no sweater in the mail. 

He stays there all day, waiting for her to return home. He solves crossword puzzle after puzzle, stacks of newspapers now lining her apartment. He ends up buying books of puzzles, just to have something to pass the time. Occasionally, he tries to take walks, but he always ends up seeing older posters of Oswald plastered to the walls of buildings, and he begins to feel ill. Those moments seem to always make his other self emerge, even if it takes him a few moments to spot him through a crowd. He smiles, leaning against some telephone pole, walks into the middle of the road, and-

One night, Isabella presses his hands too tight to her neck, and she asks him to keep going. He can't stop himself, thumbs digging down in a way that's almost painful for him, constricting airflow. She passes out, and in Edward's panic, something flickers into his perception.  _Very good Eddie I'll take care of that again._  "No no no, she's got to be alright." _It's been so long it feels so good everything is drained out of her isn't it fantastic?_ "It's not going to happen again, not like this, she'll be fine." _Where should I hide the hand this time should we give it to Butch Gilzean hahaha if we give it to Oswald he might take us back he might smile I want to see him smile like that._

He presses his lips to hers, gifting her the air from his lungs. She wakes up soon, with Edward dry heaving, and smiles. Her eyes twinkle. "Again," she calls, "harder this time."

He flees.

* * *

Art confused with imitation. Isabella was a parrot, learning by example- well, not really learning. Edward had confused longing with love and love with admiration. He was chasing the idea of a normal life and a normal girl and wasn't it so stupid, when he was  _extraordinary_ , could have the most extraordinary man he's ever met? His  _equal_?

In his car, sickening thoughts about Kristen and Isabella and- Oswald, of course it's Oswald, all flood him. The other him smiles in the rearview mirror. He twists his own face into a not quite grin and throws his head back and laughs, speaking at the same time, the two overlapping sounds a cacophany.  _You really fucked it up he would've had you you lost control and he would've kept you there forever assuaged all that pain now you're stuck with me._ He sees himself move from the backseat to the street a few times, but he manages not to swerve off the road.

He floors it to the Van Dahl mansion. Oswald smiling at him, just for him. He foot never leaves the gas pedal. Oswald casting sweet glances at him, hands hovering over the back of his suit jacket. He's made such a mistake. Oswald pressing kisses into his shoulder when they hug.

He enters by barreling through the foor. He doesn't even take the time to look around, make sure no one else is there. "Oswald," his voice echoes through the house, "Oswald! Oswald?" On his way he only notices a stunned Victor Zsasz, but brushes past him. Room after room and he finally finds him. Ed's old room.

There's no time for Oswald to register the noise as Edward grabs him. Doesn't even manage to get out his name before Edward pulls him into a hug, longlimbed.

"Missed you, fuck, I _missed_  you, Oswald, dearest friend-" The body against him stills entirely, and there's no arms around his back, tiny kisses on his shoulder. "I love you, I'm sorry I was so foolish, my darling Oswald." In that instance, it dawns on Edward how druglike touching Oswald is. He had never been one for physical affection, but being able to hold a man with such presence, such force behind him renders him intoxicated. The only thing better is when Oswald touches him back.

Oswald pushes him away, forcefully, gravitation shifting once again.

His glasses askew, Edward stares, stunned, love eclipsed by fear. Part of him wants Oswald to trample him, dissect the ugly pieces of his heart and brain that craved normalcy, remove them so all he felt and knew was _Oswald_. The other part, the other him, wants to murmur apologies deep into Oswald's bones, soak his marrow in affection until he can pull it from him, keep it on their mantle. _Pretty pretty furious vivid boy._

"Wh... what are you _doing_  here?" He finally understands that Oswald isn't angry, he's hurt. The seagreen of his eyes is so clear, like he's drowned in them, into the empty hollow places of the ocean. Edward doesn't care. With a surge forward, Ed takes his lips, knight takes king. This time, Oswald's trembling fingers reach for his jacket. He's waited so long, Edward realizes now. This defeated, victorious man.

"I love you, Oswald." He repeats it into his mouth, over and over, like he can fill Oswald's entire being with just those words.

"Wasn't I the fool to think someone like her could replace Kristen, could match what we, you and I, have? You are unparalleled. You are _everything,_  Oswald." The man's eyes widen, mouth agape at Edward's declarations. "She was what I wanted, not what I needed. You're the alpha and the omega." His life didn't start until he met Oswald, and he will certainly be the one to end it, he can feel it.

Oswald does not respond in turn, lips pressed. Then, he presses Edward forward, forward, forward, until his back thuds against the wall, sound venturing into the cracks of his- _their_ ancient house. One hand wanders to that soft space between his neck and head, behind his ear, cradling him as he kisses him, while the other grabs the edge of the door and pushes it shut.

**Author's Note:**

> uhh its been 4.5 years since i posted anything on ao3 but im so weak for this show and these two.


End file.
